


Thieves, Whores, Assassins and Templars

by Tak



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassins Creed 3
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tak/pseuds/Tak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was suppose to be a little story for my own self gratification because I had fallen in love with Connor very hard.<br/>It then grew.</p><p>Thank you Heather for being my test reader.</p><p>Stay tuned for another fic featuring Lizbeth and Connor, and a Tyranny of King Washington version of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thieves, Whores, Assassins and Templars

Boston 1779 Winter  
The fine bone comb tugged at small knots that were scattered about her red tresses. Cool wind slipped through the open shutters, caressing the pale curtains in the main room while rain pelted the snow covered rooves and streets, slowly turning it all to sludge. She pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders. A single candle burnt by her side, Casting long shadows about the quiet room. Winning the battle against her unruly fiery locks she smiled at her reflection in the looking glass, her hair finally falling into order framing her fair features.

Barking in the distance, dogs let out warnings into the night. Letting their owners among others know the whereabouts of every passer by.  
Shouts of men joined the chorus. English voices, accents thick as the snow on the ground calling the position of an assailant. The noises grew, feet could be heard crunching through snow, chasing what sounded like footsteps on roof tops.  
Lizbeth placed the comb back on the duchess turning her attention to the door that led to the empty dark lounge.  
The silence was broken with a thud. Sound of feet scrabbling against wood and another heavy thud as a body jumped through the window and snapped the shutters closed. Through the gloom she couldn't see who it was. The figure was tall and broad, she guessed a man was listening intently to the noises of the street.  
Lizbeth remained still, there were few people in this world who could find her. Fewer still that would approach her by window. Either of them were worth a moments apprehension, She had nothing to defend her self, he was bigger and obviously stronger than her. Reaching for the top blanket on the bed. Pulling it slowly and silently towards her, she began her move.  
She took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the doorway into the darkness. Moving like a cat she flicked the blanket up over the strangers head, ensnaring him in the folds of cloth. He spun making to defend himself against this unseen foe. Pulling the corners down around his arms she swiftly tied them tight against his body. He struggled momentarily before the sickening ripping was heard. She stepped back seeing the blade poke from the petite floral bed sheet pattern. Panicked her eyes darted around the room for something to continue the fight. A large oil lamp stood on a writing desk to the side of the window. She turned making a lunge for it as the last ripping noises gave way to the sound of the blanket slipping to the floor. Turning back lamp raised above her head ready to strike.  
"Wait." He raised his hands palms open facing her "I am not here to cause trouble."  
She hesitated, peering through the low light trying to make out features beneath the hood.  
"Who are you?"  
"My name is Connor." His voice was soft and calm denoting a gentler nature than the glint his weaponry did.  
"Stay there." She ordered curtly, turning back towards the bedroom to retrieve the light. Touching the wick with the candle she carried the warm glow back to the dark lounge to illuminate her new guest.  
Dripping head to toe, he remained where she had asked, a small puddle pooling beneath his feet staining the wood floor. He wore white, a hood covering his features shadowing his face from the light.  
Stepping closer to him, she reached up to pull it down. Running her fingers along its edge she gave it a tug, and the pail wet cloth slipped reluctantly back.  
"Well now." She exclaimed tenderly looking up to watch the light dancing on his bronzed skin. "You're not who I was expecting at all."  
Lightning crackled out side behind them, thunder roared as an answer. Between the storm noise the English men could still be heard shouting, looking for him.  
Pondering the value of helping, she pushing past him and throwing open the shutters.  
"Wha' are you lo' clamouring abou'?" She shouted into the storm, her usual plumb English accent slipping into something a little rougher round the edges.  
"We're looking for a man. He was running this way miss. Disappeared into one of these windows." Came the reply from the ground.  
"Was he good looking?" She asked flashing them a cheeky grin, "I could help the search."  
"If its a man your looking for love..." Began one of the redcoats before his comrade cuffed him over the head.  
"Sorry to bother you miss. You have a good evening. Come on we'll try the next block over."  
She winked and closed the shutters behind her. Shaking the droplets of water from her hair she turned back to Connor. "There now. You have a moments reprieve." She smiled "Tea?"  
She had turned leaving him to go to the kitchen before he could answer.  
"Who was it you were expecting?" He queried following her, the light and the warmth as she placed the kettle on the stove.  
"One of the local thugs, thinking I'm poaching on their land again, or worse." She stated rubbing her forehead as she searched through the cupboard for cups. Breathing a silent sigh of relief her that it wasn't one of the men she was indentured to.  
"You and I have very different meanings for poaching I take it."  
"Ha! Quite." Her musings were interrupted by an exclamation as she found the mugs and tea pot she was looking for. In good timing the kettle began to sing between them. She popped spoonful of tea leaves into the pot covering them with the hot water, making another expedition into the cupboards to find sugar. Finishing the tea and passing him a cup. Her finger tips bushed his feeling the chill in his skin.  
"Dear god, soaked and frozen!" She exclaimed. "Drink, it will be the only thing that will stave off your death. I'll try find you something dry." She flitted off into the depths of the dark apartment, giving him a moment to assess his surroundings.  
It was a rich looking apartment. That much fit her. Her accent was well rounded, and though she spoke fast, every syllable was clipped and well enunciated. The house small despite is comforts was kept in darkness. She carried the lamp with her from room to room. It was as if she didn't want any one to know she was there.  
She returned, placing a neatly folded bundle of men's cloths on the table next to him.  
"Hopefully they will fit." She said picking up her own mug and leaning back against the bench top. Watching him with piercing eyes as she sipped delicately at her tea.  
"This is not your house is it?" He queried slowly returning her steady gaze.  
"Very astute. How did you figure that out?" Her tone was droll, but with out offence.  
"You don't know where anything is, and there are men's clothes in the house even though you are not married." He explained simply. Beginning to feel like every facet of the conversation was a test. He could feel her gaze analysing him, taking stock of not only weaponry and his physical aspects but how he answered questions.  
"You don't take me for a Harlot?" She asked innocently  
"I take you for a squatter, or a thief."  
Laughing at his blunt omission, she finished her tea and set it down. "I prefer the term Financial Liberator."  
He smirked at her glib humour, "So who are you miss Finical Liberator."  
"Mother always said don't give your name to strangers who jump through your window." Came her curt reply  
"It wasn't your window was it?" He retorted.  
"Be thankful I was not the lady of the house. Not every one would be quite so hospitable."  
"Like throwing a blanket over my head and threatening to hit me with a lamp." He reached for the clothes, a plain shirt, dark pants. Rich fibres soft supple and warm, the owners of the house obviously had means.  
"Your welcome." She moved toward the door. Nothing in her confidant well place steps made a sound over the noise of the rain hitting the windows. She paused a moment turning back to look at him over her shoulder. "Lizbeth is my name. From one rogue to another, your welcome to stay as long as you need, or until the rightful owners return." She stepped from the light into the darkness again, leaving him in the warmth of the kitchen.  
Returning to the bedroom, to her tiny candle flickering against the night. She fingered the comb thinking on this Connor, two rooms across. Dripping wet, running from redcoats. He seemed a familiar face though she couldn't place where from. A handsome face, with adornments that spoke of one of the local tribes. At first glance kind, still his garb was not anything familiar, he was heavily armed and she was not one to be turned by comely visage. She would wait, sitting down on the bed she pulled a book out from the side table. If he slept she would find out who this Connor was.

The house went quiet. The storm still raged in the night out side. Gathering her skirts around her she crept into the lounge. Sure enough her welcoming offer had been taken and he lay sleeping soundly on the floor. She crossed the room in the dark, her eyes adjusting to the low light, the large white hooded coat lay over an armchair, its heavy fabric still damp to the touch. She ran her hands over the lapels, toying with the silver buttons she reached inside feeling for any hidden pockets. Nothing but an eagle embossed on the hood. She looked over some of the weaponry that lay neatly on an adjacent table. A pistol, a tomahawk, a sword, each kept in working order, the bumps and scratches on each item telling her they were well used.  
Approaching the sleeping figure, kneeling next to him she looked him over. No money pouch obvious, no papers, no distinguishing features to tell her which side he belonged too.  
On his left arm there was a large gauntlet, leather and metal both, she reached out to it, catching a glimmer of sharper metal under his wrist, the large cuff hiding a deadly secret. Her eyes grew wide as she realised what this man was. 

Snapping up to grab her wrist his hand jumped from his side. She hadn't realised he had woken. Faster than she had time to react he snatched her other wrist and rolled her on her back pinning her to the ground. "Thief." He exclaimed.  
"Assassin." She hissed back. Struggling for moment against him.  
"You know the Assassins?"  
"Its Just one of the few orders that made it across from the old counties. Thieves, Assassins, Whores and Templars." She gave up fighting against him relinquishing herself to his grasp.  
"What do you know about the Templars?" He demanded.  
"Enough to say my Pleases and Thank you's and leave them alone. Don't mind as soon as you let me up I will give you the same courtesy." Though truth be told they did little to leave her out of their affairs. Being this close to an Assassin let alone giving him aid was enough conflict to end her life and her confidant nature was doing little to hide the terror behind her eyes and through out her body. Releasing his grip on her he allowed her to sit up.  
"Where did you learn about the Assassins?" Sensing her fear, he returned to his gentle spoken ways, gentle coercion was better than terrifying the poor girl.  
She crossed one arm across her belly the other tugging at the neckline of her dress. Averting her eyes as she spoke, "My father spoke of them." Though a fact of her youth, it was an edited version of the truth. "A thief was an Assassins greatest tool, he would say. Since well before the old days. Courtesans distract Guards better than most, and a man can hide behind their skirts and silks. Vigilantes and mercenaries are the best in a fight. Strong and in greater numbers, but a Thief will get you information, we have eyes and ears every where, from the richest manors to the deepest gutters. Objects of your desire we can ferret them out and get them with out a drop of blood spilled. Treasures, finery or forgery all are with in our grasp. But there hasn't been an assassin this side of the colonies that I've seen in my life time." She looked up "You all had become a myth. That myth didn't peg you as a patriot."  
"I fight for freedom." His belief in his cause voiced through the conviction of his words.  
"Freedom?" Her hands slapped the floor at her side her posture rising up."Freedom to die in the streets of small pox while the powers at be fight over the tax on tea? Over land that wasn't theirs to begin with?" She pulled her legs up and made to stand "You fight for their freedom, Not your own"  
"You wouldn't understand." He mumbled.  
She paused her feet coming to rest perfectly together, her shoulders setting low and firm "What did you say?"  
"You wouldn't understand." He repeated louder this time "Being English."  
She turned on the spot. "Being English?" She snapped.  
"You are, aren't you. I mean look at you. Listen to you."  
"Oh we're making face value judgments now." She bent down to him. "Your right I don't understand. My father is Welsh, my mother was French, I was born on a boat sailing for the America's, so unlike you I don't have a native land. I do know my people though. The other beggars, orphans and impoverished, the army's will feed us while we are dying for them. Beyond that, once the war is won? Each side will ship us off label us unfortunate, and never look that way again." She took a deep breath, composing her self drawing back the anger straightening up again. "However noble you seem, your friends are not." She bowed her head "I wish you nothing but luck in your endeavour. Good night." Creaking beneath her the wood floor protested her movement. He jumped to catch her as she left.  
"Lizbeth I am sorry." His hand brushed hers, grasping at her fingers, he stood in one fluid action. "I didn't mean..."  
Placing a hand on his chest she cut his sentence short. "It's politics Connor." She looked up through her ruddy curls. "It's all just politicians throwing their weight around. Be they scientists, or generals they are still politicians." She laughed softly before adding. "They would be con men if they were more honest."  
Her face had softened, the hurt and rage gone from her, as quickly as it had come. Connor noticed she seemed concerned as she looked at him.  
"You are a valuable commodity. Don't let them use you as their own personal weapon." She raised her hand with his still upon it and gave him a reassuring squeeze before slipping from him and disappearing back into the night.  
Standing in the darkness he could still feel the warmth in her touch. Warm of body and temper. Quickly she had flared up, changing the fear she had into unbridled anger in mere moments. Then just as a bush fire burns its hottest looking to consume all in its wake. She stopped becoming no more than warm smouldering embers. He had a feeling with her it would only take a small gust to start the fire anew. Standing in the dark looking off into the direction she left, his hands were still warm where she had touched him.

Lying in bed staring through the dark at the ceiling. Lizbeth wrapped herself in her blankets. She had come face to face with an Assassin. He was young, not as suave or worldly as her father had described. She thought back through her life to see where the memory of his face came from. There was a whisper in the back of her mind, that she had seen him, maybe in her youth, maybe age had become its own disguise. He seemed naive, honest and brave. Fool hearty traits for any man in the new world. She ran her hands over her face. She could still smell the earth and water from his coat, a faint hint of gun powder, scents of wear. She closed her eyes burying her hands behind her head. 

The morning rose anew sharp light pierced the shutters waking Connor. The house was eerily still. No sounds of sleep, no movement. He searched the rooms but there was no trace of her. The bed was made not a wrinkle to be seen, the used dishes were washed and returned to their rightful spot. Not even a hair was left, it was like she was no more than a dream. This Lizbeth, fire turned to a woman.

She watched him slip from the window, and the same way he had come in the night before. Through the shutters, pulling himself skilfully up the side of the building across the roof tops away from the eyes of the redcoats below. No doubt those she was bound to serve would want to know of him if they didn't already. Sneakily fleeing was cowardly, but she couldn't get drawn into his affairs. She had her own issues to deal with.  
She put the fine bone comb in the pocket of the stolen coat and pulled it around her shoulders against the crisp sharp wind on the bright morning. The rain had washed away most of the snow, erasing the filth of the days before. Walking away a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth she pushed forward into the throngs of people on the streets of Boston.  
***  
New York 1780, Spring  
Months past, weather warmed and days grew longer, Lizbeth found her self working a long con for an affluent family just out side New York. She was playing at being an Irish nanny taking care of two boisterous young girls who enjoyed running loose and free around the large manor. Her character Keeva, a bright faced, light hearted woman who had all the energy to deal with the lovely curly haired bundles of energy. She was trusted and loved. subsequently the con had fallen by the way side, left for children's laughter, scuffed knees and bedtime stories.  
She came from the kitchen whipping her hands on her apron entering the back yard to investigate the impending silence. "Rosemary, Sarah, what are ya munchkins up to out here?"  
The two sweet voices replied in unison. "Nothing Nanny!"  
She laughed "Nothing? Like when you broke your Ma's fine china and buried it in the garden." She gasped at the girls playing in the mud brought on by the spring rains."You wee devils look at ya." 

Connor approached the homestead, the high grasses surrounding the property providing ample cover. The lavish manor was bustling with people, Welcoming back the Captain of the house.  
Two young girls ran to their nanny covered in mud, he could hear her thick Irish accent as she scolded them. Though not sternly, she laughed with them, kneeling down pulling a handkerchief from her apron to wipe off most of the offending muck.  
The Nanny's laugh was so familiar. The bright face, even the small curls that fell from her bonnet. She stood up her voice becoming serious. "Your mother wants you clean for lunch." Her eyes scanned the area, the area he was hiding. She turned back to the children. "Hurry inside now. Get ready for your bath."  
"Is something wrong." The eldest asked  
"No child, do as I say now, I'll be in in a minute," her voice was distant she seemed distracted. Connor stayed in the safety of his hiding spot, he edged closer to see if he could better recognise this young woman. 

Lizbeth watched the girls run into the house. Nonchalantly wandering towards a few of their toys strewn about the property. She bent down close to the edge of the long grass that framed the edge of the play area and looked up into the warm eyes of the Assassin that had clambered into her life one raining day months ago.  
"Connor." She whispered "What on earth?"  
"Lizbeth?" Suddenly the young woman was recognisable, as the Irish slipped away.  
She snatched up the toy and turned subtly signalling him to follow her, she wandered along the edge of the expanse past the swings tied to the trees and a table and chairs set for summer entertainment to the back of an old shed far from prying eyes.  
Once she knew they were out of sight she took him by the arm pulling him to his feet and pushing him against the weathered wood.  
He protested quietly against being man handled, not that she could do any more than direct him, strong or not she was half his size. It was her will that bundled him against the side of the shed.  
"What business have you here Connor?" She demanded finger to his chest. "You're an ominous sign to a nice family like this."  
He gently removed her accusing finger from his personal space. "And you? Are you here for purely honest reasons?"  
Lizbeth opened her mouth and shut it again. Sighing heavily before leaning against the cracked paint flecked wood next to him. "What's the contract?"  
He smiled to reassure her, "all I need is documents. The Captains ship has been slaughtering ours up and down the coast line. I need to stop him."  
"Documents?" She repeated "and how were you going to get them?"  
Looking back around the edge of the shed, he frowned. "As of yet I am unsure. But I must, by any means."  
Lizbeth pushed herself off the shed, those were fighting words where she was from, dusting the paint chips of her dress and hands, she crossed her arms as she stood before him. Knowing the problems the next sentence would cause her.  
"Tell me exactly what you need, and I will get it for you."  
He frowned, "why?"  
"Because if you go in there, with his men all about the house, not to mention dozens of guests, it will get messy. The Captain, he will try and stop you. No man deserves to die over paper."  
Connor regarded Lizbeth's steady stare with one of his own. He respected her conviction, a thief she maybe but with morals and values that were ingrained with a curtain level of candour.  
He reached into a pocket in his shirt and handed over the piece of paper that had the lists of the ships logs and itinerary's she had to find. It was fragile, the small piece of handwriting had been folded and re folded so many times the folds had become prone to ripping. She looked it over carefully and tucked it in side her apron.  
"Meet me in the city, after dark." She told him "I will find you." She turned on her heal.  
"The captain, for your Information." she added pausing for a just a second, the thought hitting her as she left "He's a good man, sure he reeks of privilege, but he's good to his family and children. Kind and fair to his workers and you would have gone straight through him to get papers just because his ship flies the Union Jack?"  
"No, I would prefer to gain the knowledge with out incident." He told her plainly "to prevent the deaths of any more good men by that ship that flies the Union Jack."  
Lizbeth swallowed any argument she had left, perhaps this assassin, this Connor was fighting for a better world. "Good thing you have me then." She smiled and winked. The change seemed to flow through her body, changing her from the soft kindly Nanny to the confidant con-woman sly and flirtatious. Her acting as always was flawless, and slightly unnerving. "You may as well take advantage of me." She paused blushing a little at her slip. "My skills." She corrected.  
Connor laughed "Then you will find me in the city. I shall await you eagerly." It was his turn to leave with a confidant smile and the last word.  
Spinning on her heel she shook her head, her armour was cracked through a slip of the tongue. Now was not the time for that particular personable outfit.  
Keeva must do her work, as much as it saddened her to possibly hurt this family, the loss of trust of Keeva was far less painful than the possibility of the loss of life. She knew the house, she knew the Captain, the majority of his guard. They were strong, united in their cause, the loss of life may not have been on their side.  
"Nanny that was not a minute." Rosemary complained as Lizbeth entered the house.  
"Well it would have been if you hadn't left your toys strewn about the country side." She led the children up the stairs to the bathroom.  
"You seem sad. What wrong?" Sarah the little one asked.  
Lizbeth through Keeva's face forced a smile "The weight of decision child. That's all."

Connor wandered the streets of New York. "Find me?" He whispered to the spring night watching people light lanterns in tavern windows. With out cool air to deter patrons the streets were full.  
"Well hello there young man." A sultry woman purred approaching him. He backed away from her trying find words of protest. She laughed "Follow me. She said you'd be bashful, sweet young man, albeit a bit straight laced."  
"Straight laced." He mused as he followed the woman through and alley and across a bright and inviting thresh hold.  
Cheery music impregnated the air along with smells of roasting meat, and more than one mug of ale spilt. More women like the one that had led him there scattered this main room, various states of undress, giggling and joking, stroking men's egos. He was led to a table with a small figure in a expensive coat nursed a tankard from under the large tri-corn hat. She looked up and smiled at he took the seat next to her.  
"A brothel?" He asked  
"Whores, Thieves, Assassins and Templars." She responded signalling for one of the girls to bring him a drink.  
"She thinks she's better than us." Snarked the woman who had lead him in. "Men pay for her affections just the same as us, she's just more expensive."  
He watched Lizbeth roll her eyes at the comment as she removed the hat from her and placed it next to her. "Half the men in here are seeing nothing but bare flesh." She told him ignoring the other woman's remark, "The other half can't mention that they were in here. It's the perfect place to meet."  
His drink was delivered and Lizbeth graced the waitresses hand with coin as she left.  
"I take it you took more than just the documents tonight?" He observed, not intending the meaning she must have taken from it.  
Lizbeth sipped her drink staring into the depths of the ale. Pulling the brown envelope from under her seat she placed it between them. "A girl has to eat." She said solemnly. Guilt digging lines through her otherwise un marked forehead. He slid the documents towards himself and flicked through them.  
"They are all there or don't you trust me?"  
Contemplating her features, now washed free of any hint of masks or personalities other than something that was unmistakably Lizbeth. He closed the envelope placing it to one side and picking up his drink.  
Lizbeth shook her head, and chewed her lip. "3 months I was there you know. 3 months." She laughed "I suppose this is god's way of telling me to stick to what I'm good at."  
"You were working there?" It wasn't the hugest of surprises, for the snippet of time he observed her, she had seemed at home.  
"I am a con-artist, Connor, sometime you have to play a part for a while, and some times you like the part. As Mary was telling you people still pay for my affections. It's just not always with money." She downed the last of her drink, and stood up walking past him. "As always, a pleasure." Pausing long enough to say her piece before putting as many bodies between them as she could. 

Grabbing the hat she had left off the table he ran his hands over the thick felt. A Captains hat. Rich and ornate, taken from the house along with the coat and clothes she was wearing. He followed her through the patrons, loosing sight of her as she slipped through the door onto the street.

Streets teaming with people made her feel better. She liked being one of the rabble, made her feel part of something. Orphans ran past her legs laughing, one boy with dark doe eyes, pleaded with her for coin. She gifted him a small portion of her takings with strict instructions to share what he could. As she bent to pass him the money she caught out of the corner of her eye the brown pieced pants, the white winged coat. Her heart skipped a beat before paranoia set in. Slipping past the child, she pattered down another side alley. Sliding to a halt next to a sleeping Englishman, his coat discarded for comfort in the warmer evening. She stripped her coat from her shoulders and carefully and quietly lifted his, his hat and rifle skipping over to join the back end of a convoy headlining out of town.  
Marching in time, to the red coats beat, she hoped the colour would be enough to deter him. Hiding in the rose bush had its difficulties, a wrong step and she would be surrounded by thorns. She looked behind her, catching glimpses seeing him every where.  
"Oi lad your lagging behind." One of the other soldiers barked at her.  
She looked up shocked for a moment.  
"Your not a lad at all."  
Whipping the hat off her head she tossed it at his face, Startling him for just a second. She threw the musket aside and bolted. Roughly shoving people from her path as she heard muskets fire behind her. Scrabbling down side streets she didn't let the dead end get in her way, pulling herself up an awning and scaling a window frame putting the jungle of chimneys pots between her and her aggressors. 

Connor heard the shout, heard the shots. He left her coat on the stack of boxes he had found it on and got a vantage point high above the street.  
Flapping with the momentum of her run, her coat tales waved to him as she bolted away from the red coat convoy and out towards the farm land. Only two young men gave chase, Attempting to track her movements across the roof tops. He launched into his pursuit, quickly catching the two reds. Over taking them he lay two traps, not enough to kill today, But enough to hold them until some one had the heart to cut the down.  
The heavy leather clad feet thumped closer to his snare. Just as they hit the appropriate cobble he jumped from his vantage point using a awning railing as a pivot point they hoisted into the air helplessly swaying back and forward.  
With the reds secure he could follow Lizbeth and her mad run across the roof tops.  
She came out of a darkened alley and crossed his path. Obviously her attention had turned from him to the red coats as she barely noticed him in the street.  
"Lizbeth?!" He called to her hoping that with the threats eliminated perhaps she would take pause.  
She froze for a second like a deer in a hunters sight. Before bolting down another side street. Again Connor gave chase, she kept her distance not through speed, but knowledge of the area. He missed her many twists and turns many times, as she seemed to know every crevasse and rat hole along with every path and trail. Catching up finally to her only a hairs breath away, she dived between a gap between two houses, old piles of wood cluttered the tiny alcove filling the already starved for space path. There was no way he could fit, he was beginning to see the value in a thief, how many conversations could be over heard if you could sneak between buildings in places only rodents dare to tread. Hoisting himself up the side of the building he saw her exit. Taking stock of her surroundings she edged forward, before breaking into a run across the slowly yawning fields that broke away from the expanse of cities.  
Throwing himself off the edge of the building he fell skilfully into a hay pile and began to jog after her. He could catch her on the field, in a straight sprint he had the upper hand, a larger stature had its advantage. 

Lizbeth's lungs were burning. She had run across the city from Connor, then run further from the red costs, having to run again from him and his relentless pursuit. She was sure she had put enough distance between them that if she could run across the field she could take a horse, or a cart and hit the road, Lose herself in amongst the frontiersman. She glanced quickly behind herself, one last check for paranoia. There he was, like a hound that had found the scent. Run, was her first thought sprint, she was tired there was no sprint left.  
She spun on her heal "Stop chasing me." She yelled at him. Her voice echoing through the empty field. Her only answer was the wind playing with the crops of the local farmers. Connor approached her reaching into his coat, pulled out the Captains hat and tossed it to her. She fumbled the catch almost dropping it to the grass. Lifting it to her face she smelled the manor, the rosemary bushes that lined the front garden. The wildflower from the old style English garden at the back.  
"I thought since you went to so much trouble to take it, you might want to keep it." He told her, closing the distance between them, while her mind was lost in her feelings.  
"If it helps, I'm sorry I asked you to get the papers."  
Lizbeth's eyes darted to his face, he could see the sorrow in her gaze.  
"How." Was all her mind could stammer, the realisation that one person could see through her elaborate body of lies perhaps begin to see her, was causing problems deep in her heart.  
"I saw you with the children, they loved you." he paused. "And You take things, momentous? A comb was missing from the set in the house where we first meet. The hat, I presumed from the Captain of the manor." Slowly she had begun to back away. This Assassin was to clever for his own good.  
"What did you see."  
"Beyond who you were, you didn't lie to them. Your laugh was honest. Three months is a long time to be with a family. I'm sorry you lost that."  
She turned from him, walking away in disbelief. The way he spoke, so matter of fact as if she was an open book to read at his leisure.  
"Where will you go?" He called to her, this time not following. Standing with the grasses lapping at his legs like waves. Moonlight making his white coat glimmer.  
"I will find a bed tonight, and in the morning I will find a carriage. Or maybe a ship, Head for England or France."  
"Those places are not your home."  
Lizbeth laughed, and turned back to him. "Connor do I look like a person with a home?"  
"Do you not have any family?"  
Opening her arms wide "I'm one of the orphans of the new word. Or I would be if I knew if my father was dead or alive."  
He moved to her side as she began wading through the field. "Would you really leave?"  
"In a heart beat if I could get passage." She told him, taken back by the small trace of disappointment hiding behind his eyes. "I'm not a fighter, I don't win wars. Least of all a war that is not my own."  
"You said this before, told me not to fight their war. This is our war, I'm doing this for the people, my people." He over took her blocking her way. Hoping the physical impasse would force her to think about what he said.  
"And when the war is won and the red is pushed back across the sea. What happens to your people then? When the cities grow and crawl out into that wild frontier. You think the word of some man will stop the stampede of pioneers?" She pushed passed him a hand on his shoulder.  
"Washington promised." He protested  
"He promised? Well!" She exclaimed mockingly "You Poor, naive, child."  
He pinned her hand to his chest. Turning with her but not allowing her to move any further.  
"You sound like one of them, a Templar. Who are you that knows all the truths in the world?" He snapped, anger finally beginning to rise.  
Again the sly smile returned, her free hand encapsulated his. "Why Connor I'm the last truly free women in the new world."  
"But you have nothing. You steal trinkets to remember happier times, you have no home, no family." He was baffled as to how any one could be proud of that. "All you have is your self and your loneliness."  
In that moment she looked away "With nothing loved, nothing can be lost. I can come and go as I please." She slipped from his grip trotting the last few steps to the road. Carts could be heard coming and going in the distance, their wheels clattering over the roughly hewn stones.  
"What if there was a place," he began "a place where you could be free and safe. With out giving up everything."  
"It would be heaven."  
"It is." He told her, Listening to the wagon noise getting louder as they stood in the other wise quiet night. "You could come with me. I could show you what I mean."  
She raised a hand to his face, softly it caressed his cheek tracing his jaw. "Connor you don't let liars and thieves into paradise." She inclined his face down to hers as she raised up on her tip toes she kissed his forehead. "Thank you. You are one of the few kind men left in this world." She stepped back from him, the last cart of the evening bounced past. As if she had done it a million times before she caught the back post and hoisted her self quietly into the back under canvas between the stock. Her head poking up one last moment to wave him goodbye.  
Stunned he watched the wagon on its route out of town, it grew smaller and smaller until finally the road it followed curved well out of sight.  
He sighed, shrugging to the universe. Her words about thieves and paradise haunted him. Sticking a chord deep with in, did she think she would be the downfall of the homestead. Was she ashamed of the villainy she participated in which she defended earlier in the night. With every word she spoke to him it was more as if she was justifying the guilt to herself, living the Lonely life consolidating the collateral damage to her own heart and the few she let it cross. 

***  
Frontier 1780 Summer.  
The fort practically sighed in the heavy summer air, the soldiers lethargic in the heat were more interested in finding ways to keep cool than to investigate the diminutive figure in a red coat and hat skulking through the battlements and into the keep.  
Lizbeth's task was not so simple on the balmy night, the fort lay on the coast, the nearest settlement a tiny shanti town two hours ride away. The pioneers that lived their produced their own food and lived hard and fulfilling lives. With this war for independence the English supply lines had been cut, their superior numbers and fire power had taken what little the settlement could produce.  
Lizbeth had only meant to pass through, she had put so many miles to her back since she had left Connor in New York, this was to be yet another.  
Something compelled her to stay, hear their plight, attempt to help them. She blamed Connor, stupid, honest, brave man it was was starting to rub off on her. She had been thinking of him more and more as time and distance speed between them. He was as close to a friend as she often got, despite only meeting him on two separate occasions. She had even memorised his looks, the thoughts had kept her warm at night. Their conversations though brief still played in the back of her mind, he was so hopeful, his vision was such a pure one it was hard not to get caught up in its majesty even if her own cynicism did speak out from time to time. He had accused her of sounding like a Templar, did she really tote their code? It was hard to separate her own teaching from her own feelings. A pessimist's heart was rarely broken, but often lonely.  
She entered the main building from the back, an unguarded door that opened up right by the steps to the battlements. Once inside she was met with formal drudgery of military life. A war room with a table covered in maps and tiny toy soldiers to strategise and plan, it would have been a treasure trove if she was after information for the patriots, but she was here for food. A small collection tonight then with careful planning a proper hit to get more. Trotting down the hall she spied the kitchen. Smells still wafting from the dinner menu but stoves cold, and the room empty. Treading with great care she passed pots and pans holding her breath knowing if one should fall she was done, until finally the pantry.  
She opened both doors, hoping to be met with a treasure trove, but only saw a meagre haul, half filled sacks looking sadly in the dark corners.  
"You know we are on rations. Out of there." The gruff voice barked behind her. Pausing, body going ridged she analysed her possibilities. If she spoke her voice would give her away, if he caught a glimpse of her face he would know her for the imposter she was. The sad sack of potatoes called out to her, singing the song of her salvation. Snatching up the loose edges she swung it with all her strength clocking the soldier in the head. The thud confirmed his fall. No time for a snatch and run, She leaped over the stunned man, she sprinted down hall hitting the closed door while she fumbled for the knob. Men began to spill down the stairs and out of the various rooms to see what the commotion was. Finally the door pushed open and she fell out into the air, falling to her knees as the door gave way, scrabbling at the grass pushing her self forward, every fibre screaming at her push on. She got to her feet searching for an exit. The wall. If she could get to the wall, she could jump into the sea.  
Rounding the edge of building, she felt it, she didn't see it, The red sharp pressure splintering out from the bridge of her nose, bringing the blackness with it.

Pitch shattered into consciousness, Lizbeth woke spluttering, spitting the cold water out trying to sake it off. She looked around. Two men stood before her, one leering with the offending bucket in hand. Her hands bound together mirroring her feet she hung from the rough thick ropes by a hook usually used for storing meat. Trussed up outside in one of the open wood structures, she took a minute to get bearing. The other soldier pulled another length of rope fashioning it into a noose and looping it over her head and tying it to the support beam above.  
"There you are, so no thinking about slipping off that hook." He told her as he worked "if you do you'll wring your neck."  
The bindings were tight, as tight as her wrists and feet. She tried to swallow.  
"There's been some kind of misunderstanding." She began.  
The first soldier put his bucket down and drew his sword, it sung as he arched it through the air laying it to rest on her throat.  
"I don't think there has." He hissed "You see after Captian Ranold was robbed we realised there was a thief on the loose, helping the other side." The sword tip trailed down her body tearing the cloth of her shirt as it went. "A pretty thief. I guess that was your downfall, every one in Ranold's house remembered when the Nanny disappeared."  
She laughed nervously. "Alright." She panted feeling the draft on her bare skin, "You have me, but let's not be to hasty." She made eye contact with her aggressor. "I'm extremely useful, with a wide range of talents." She squirmed a little in her binds, her arms beginning to ache with the weight that pressed on them. "After all surly what's freely given is sweeter than what's rudely taken."  
The soldier sniggered "I don't know, I have always been quite fond of the taking."  
Lizbeth's heart began to race, panic was filling her head with muck and slowing any cognitive processes down.  
"Information then. You're right I work for the other side, I have insight, and what I don't know I could find out for you. Let me go, and its yours."  
The second soldier cut her short with a scoff. "There ain't no information we want that we can't get any how. Unless you know the assassin."  
Lizbeth's face went cold, the sensation trickling down her back.  
"Look!" Exclaimed the other soldier "She knows something."  
Again the sword was returned to her flesh. This time the point coming to rest just below her eye, the tip burning into her cheek like a hot brand. "What's the assassin worth to you then? Your eye? That pretty face?"  
"Wouldn't be much too take if you cut me up." She reasoned.  
He leaned in his face coming close to hers she could smell his stench, hot summer day, marching close quarters with unsanitary living, it was all she could do to stop from retching. A trickle of blood began to form, she could see it at the edge of her vision.  
"I don't care what your face looks like. Tell me what you know about the half breed Assassin."  
"I know nothing." She stammered, which wasn't a lie. Beyond their arguments of politics and his offer for a better life she barely knew anything of Connor past his name. "Honest to god."  
"See she didn't offer to find out." One said to the other in a horse whisper.  
"You'll see I didn't, because the man is an Assassin. How long do you think I would be able to stand against the likes of him." She told them.  
"Wouldn't expect the likes of you stand for many men."  
"I suspect your more of a fight from your back kind of girl." They laughed lecherously.  
Lizbeth rolled her eyes. As she did looking up at the roof top of the keep across from where she hung, she spied a figure. Coat tales flapping dramatically behind him as he ran across the roof.  
"I suppose by the end of the night we will know if you know anything."  
She Caught the ruffians eye. "Look at me." She demanded. "Do I really look like I'm a woman in any position to lie to you?"  
"You look like..." His leer was cut short by a gurgle the point of a short blade sticking from his throat, his blood spattering forward against her clothes. The second soldier lunged for the assailant, but was blocked by a tomahawk and the blade was wrenched from his friend and plunged into him.  
The two men slumped to the ground silently as Connor stepped over them to her.  
"We have to stop meeting like this." She said, her humour doing little to mask her feeling of relief.  
"Next time we will agree on a date."  
She laughed desperately as he reached behind her to cut the noose. With strong hands lifted her off the hook sliding her carefully to the ground a swift sharp blade rid her of her binds, he asked taking her face in his hands looking at the well of blood trickling down her cheek, "Are you hurt?"  
She shook her head and threw her arms about his neck, hugging him so tight for an instant he thought she would never let go.  
Bells began to chorus, some one had witnessed the fight. The camp was being alerted to the intruder.  
"We have to leave." Lizbeth explained breaking away, looking back at him confused when he didn't follow,  
"I have business here with the Captain."  
She could hear the men beginning to assemble, she could see the few on the battlements moving looking hunting.  
"What can I do?" She asked against all sense.  
"The powder store." He told her. "Destroy it." And he took off into the depth of the hold.  
Lizbeth walked tentatively towards the bushes that scattered the area around the keep.  
Her ankles ached blood returning to her feet and hands.  
Connor was drawing the majority of the attention but she didn't want to risk open combat.  
Nearing the gates she spied the store, a Stone shed half buried into the ground. Taking a lantern left that had been left to illuminate the barrels the men on watch gathered around she opened the door and threw it in side.  
She backed away, no wick meant no idea how long it would take but she had to make sure it went off.

"You." A Redcoat shouted hurtling in her direction lunging with his bayonet, she jumped as a second soldier joined his onslaught. Dancing back narrowly avoiding the gleaming hungry point each time.  
A stab went low and she pinned the offending weapon beneath her foot and lay a punch with all her force into the unguarded jaw that was presented to her, he stumbled releasing his weapon as he fell to the dirt.  
Hooking her foot under the gun she flicked it into her hands, using it to parry the next attack. Knocking his weapon away she pointed her barrel at his chest and fired stumbled for a moment with the kicked of the blast.  
As she turned to deal with the man now pulling himself out of the dirt before she could, the powder store groaned and exploded showering them with stone and mortar, dazing him further.  
Connor approached her the last men turning and fleeing now their leader lay dead.  
"I thought you didn't fight." He stated  
"Didn't, not can't." She said, "it's usually easier for me to talk my way out of trouble."  
He raised and eyebrow. "Yes, that seemed to be going so well for you."  
Laughing at his sarcasm Lizbeth looked up. Her eyes growing wide as she was met with a man covered in blood. Reaching into a pocket in her trouser's she pulled out a white handkerchief, and stopped before him for a second to wipe some of the offending globs from his face, "is it yours?" She asked, despite him showing no sign of being wounded.  
"No" He moved to the only horse left in the fort the poor beast half mad with fright from the explosion, pulling against its tether, he began to sooth the animal with soft words.  
Lizbeth noted the sudden emptiness as a new flag few from the battlements.  
"I'll be right back." She called to Connor while running back to the keep. Back to the sad sack of potatoes and what ever else was left for her to get her hands on.

The early raise of sun snuck through the trees dappling the trail before them. Saddle bags as full as they could be with the returned food of the pioneers, Lizbeth lent back into Connor as they road through the early morning. A shiver ran through her body, adrenalin leaving her system, heat of battle fading.  
He responded putting a comforting arm around her middle her head resting on his shoulder. They rode in silence before she directed them to the little collection of quaint homes and tents amongst a small clearing. Sliding from him she quickly emptied the saddle bags and signalled for him to ride ahead. There were a few people pottering about doing their morning chores, tending to their small patch of land.  
Connor did as Lizbeth bade and rode on but curiosity got the best of him. Peering through the bushes he watched her. She trotted, up to the large house in the centre. The only fully finished homestead. Large wooden logs slatted together to make up the simple yet beautifully functional home.  
She knocked three times loud, even from his vantage point he could hear her knuckles rap upon the solid door. She waited craning her ear to hear movement. Receiving confirmation that some one was indeed answering the door she darted off, back into the foliage.  
Connor dismounted and walked the horse back onto the trail and waited for her to cross his path.  
"You didn't go far." She said crunching up the dry road towards him. Her steps quick and firm as if she had set it in her mind to walk further by herself.  
"I have learned you disappear when I take my eyes off you."  
She blushed for a moment reaching to the horse to pat it's muzzle avoiding his eye contact.  
"You were in the fort for the settlers?" He asked, joining her at the horses side.  
"Returning what is theirs."  
"I take it you weren't in it for the thanks."  
"First they thank you, then they ask if you want to stay with them. And what do you say." She spoke quietly eyes never leaving the horse.  
"Evidently that thieves are not welcome in paradise." Her took the reigns off her and mounted. Looking down at the bruised and battered woman before him he held out a gloved hand. "Which is not true in any respect."  
To his surprise she took his hand placing herself back in the saddle in front of him. Silently he spurred the horse a head feeling the apprehension through Lizbeth's tense muscles as the rode to a destination only he knew the location of.  
"I realise its taking a lot of trust." He began attempting to put her at rest. The night had been hard on her, she remained stoic on the outside he knew what a great actress she was, and how much of what she was truly feeling she would let him see.  
"Once before I trusted a man. A stranger off the street." She spoke quietly as if she was talking to the distant memory. "He offered Alms, a place to stay for winter. I was a child, he was a gentleman." She laughed "It's not a tale of woe and lost innocence. The deal we struck was for winter, and when the thaw came he left. We went our separate ways." She twisted in the saddle to look behind her. Connors face was unreadable as he let her say her piece. "I do trust on occasion. Even if its only for a season."  
"I'll wager you never told him a single truth."  
Lizbeth giggled making herself comfortable against him. "Couldn't lie to that man. Like you he could see right through me." She paused for a moment "He was a lot like you actually. But I like you better."  
***

The homestead was beautiful, they rode past small houses littering the lush property. Lizbeth even saw hare dart across their path and disappear into the thickets. She had lived all her life in the cities, the closest to wilderness she got was traveling the roads between them, even then she stayed with convoys enjoying the safety in numbers, but missing a lot of the magic of the untamed frontier.

They reigned in next to the main house. Connor led her to a room and gave her a few moments to herself. Afternoon light dripped in past the thick drapes. She looked around picking up the candelabra that sat on a side table running her hands over it before replacing it perfectly back where it belonged. Trailing her fingers across the table she moved to the bed. Tightly made it looked more than inviting after such a long night.  
As she looked up she caught a glimpse of her self in the mirror. No wonder Connor had looked on her with such worry. The blood scabbing on her face where she had been cut. A mark across the bridge of her nose where she took the blow that had knocked her unconscious, bruises covered her wrists turning them shades of blueberry against her fair skin. The weave of the rope still indented in her flesh. She removed her hat and tossed it to one side looking at her neck in the mirror where matching marks were beginning to swell up. Un buttoning her jacket revealed the ribbons her shirt was left in. None of the cuts had reached her chest, yet the slashes drew up memories of the sword, point so sharp air screamed around it as it moved, ripping through the folds of her shirt.  
She flinched at the sound of the soft knock at the door.  
"Connor said you would be needing some clothes."  
Lizbeth's feelings must have been showing more than she realised as she turned to the dark haired pretty woman who was laying out a soft blue dress on the bed.  
"Oh you poor dear." She exclaimed "there's no need to look that frightened. Your safe now." She wrapped her in a warm embrace, "He said you had been in a spec of trouble, I didn't realise how much."  
"I'm fine." Lizbeth lied "really. And thank you, it is all far to much, I don't know how to ever repay you."  
"It's our way. We look after each other here." She held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. "If you need some one to talk to. You come my way. You hear me? I have been around my share of violence."  
Lizbeth smiled at the woman's earnest words.  
"Of course. Thank you."  
Again she was left alone with her war wounds and thoughts. Stripping the shredded garments from her body she stepped into the dress. Long sleeves covered her wrists but not her throat. The deep neck line laying beautifully on her shoulders wide away from the marks.  
As her hand raised to touch them again, subconsciously hoping it was a dirty mark or maybe with the next touch her fingers won't be met with raised marks proving it was all a dream, she saw a familiar figure fill the door frame. She watched his reflection as he walked up behind her, eyes filled with concern.  
"Bruises will fade." He told her unsure of what to say.  
"Taking memories with them I hope." She looked over her shoulder at him. "Connor if you hadn't been there today."  
He silenced her with a gentle hand upon her as she completed the turn towards him.  
"There is no need to dwell on what could have happened."  
She stepped forward wrapping her arms around his waist burying her face in the folds of his jacket. All the bravado of earlier, the bargaining with redcoats, flirting with death washed away with the realisation of how close to actual danger she was, how close to death she was. His arms slowly unfurled and wrapped around her. His left hand caressing her hair. He was hesitant. Nervous, he had embraced her on the battle field, adrenalin and relief had over come any sense either of them had. Now apprehension returned.  
He didn't want to take advantage of her, she had been through quiet an ordeal. He had no idea how long she had been tied up, an all he had to go on from what was done to her was the story the bruises told.  
Turning her face towards his palm she kissed the leather of his glove. Fluttering up and under his Sleeve her fingers danced over his hand shedding it of the offending garment. Bare to the world she caressed it timidly, her lips kissing his knuckles. He couldn't take it, feeling the touch of her mouth enticing and inviting and turned her face towards his, bending to her, he meant to kiss her. It had been something he had wanted to do since they rode together from the fort. Perhaps even before. Since she had kissed his forehead and vanished from him and he had spent more months alone.  
He paused, hardly air between them, thoughts making them feel worlds apart. What would a kiss mean. What would it start? Could he give her the time she deserved. His own birth had come from one night of passion, did he want to make his fathers mistakes anew.  
Lizbeth didn't care for the deliberation, she could feel his lip brush hers and she wanted them. Raising to her tip toes she closed the gap her hands running off his up is arm and over his shoulders. Her other hand running through his dark hair using it as leverage to pull him closer.  
She felt him respond slowly at first, lips and tongue meeting her to dance together, then slowly as the flame of his desire grew. She felt his hands run down her back grasping her backside lifting her off the ground. Her skirts protesting with the move. He turned her towards the bed. Laying her down slowly. Lizbeth's mouth left his for a moment trailing across his jaw down his neck. With deft hands she loosed his shirt buttons. Drawing back the coat and shirt, revealing his well sculpted shoulders. She met them with more affections. Rising up to him to do so. His hand ran down her back, fumbling with the many buttons of her dress. Peeling the soft folds away to reveal the softer skin underneath. Teeth bushed her clavicle she gasped delicately, the sensation prickling her skin with delight.  
Again her hands crossed his shoulders both together meeting at his neck sliding up each side to cup his face. She held his face in her hands for half a second. Studying him, with loving eyes as if she was memorising his features. She kissed him again deeply. He could feel her eyelashes brush his cheek. She rolled him, taking the chance to lead, she pulled away the last of his shirt leaving him bare in sharp midday light. Kissing his chest, lips sliding to his belly, nipping at his ribs and hips she conquered his pants.  
In one swift movement she pulled her own dress over her head, the pale blue fabric whispering as it slipped from her body to the floor. She straddled him. Lowering her self slowly onto him. A sigh escaped his lips as he entered her. Enveloped by her warmth, she answered with a moan feeling him fill every inch. Hips rocked back an forward beginning the rhythm, pulling him further into her depths. His hands rested on her waist, guiding her movement, she braced herself agains his arms, back creating a delicious arc as she leaned back. Sliding, exploring her body his hands came up her back running up between her shoulder blades pulling her forward as he sat up. Lips met her breasts he took them into his mouth hungrily pulling her forward and down. She whimpered in ecstasy, her breath tickling his ear, making positively invigorating noises as she did.  
He rolled, she surrendered, her hands egging him on pulling him further and faster. He felt her body tense, her climax nearing, she broke free from his lips to gasp as she shuddered falling over the precipice into her zenith. He held tight, her his own end brought on by hers until they lay together gently panting. Forehead and noses pressed together, kisses light frequent, and tender. As breathing settled Lizbeth began to giggle softly.  
"Laughter is not the most reassuring sign." Connor mused  
"No it's not that, I was just thinking, brand new dress and I only got to wear it for a second. Must be a record." She rolled onto her back falling into the down pillows, her red curls enveloping the bed linen. Rolling onto an arm his free hand toyed with a strand of her wild welsh locks. "This wasn't what I had planned.... I mean I didn't want to take advantage of you." He stammered softy.  
Kissing him again passionately she told him "I'm afraid it was me taking the advantage though you didn't seem to mind."

A swift knock at the door, made Connor jump like a cat for his clothes.  
"Suddenly shy?" Lizbeth laughed doing nothing to hide her nakedness even as he opened the door a crack and peered out.  
"Connor, Maurice has need of you at the mine." A female voice beckoned him. Assuring her that he would be there swiftly he turned shutting the door to get his belongings.  
Buttoning his shirt, and sliding his coat back on he finally replied to her jest. "Not every one has to find out quite so obviously."  
Lizbeth gestured to the window the light curtains wafting in the gentle breeze of the day. "Any one walking past will have a fair idea first hand what's going on."  
He blushed, clearly embarrassed by the over site. Kneeling on the edge of the bed she threw her naked arms about his neck. "Heat of the moment. Lets out the madness in all of us."  
"You are the madness." He told her playfully, finally agreeing with her prior statement, before excusing himself and rushing off to help out.  
Lizbeth flopped back on the bed for a second. Letting a stupid grin spread from her lips to her toes. She knew it couldn't last for ever, this feeling this exhilaration but she would give it a moment to fill and over whelm her. Finally she put her dress back on, tired from the long night but still a flutter in her stomach so she wouldn't sleep. She ventured out into the house. The hallway carried the colours of rich wood from all the rooms. Candles sat on well made side tables for times when the light slipped away. She walked out the front door, left open In the heat of the day, a Tomahawk lodged deep with in the wood of one of the porches posts. Crossing her arms she turned to return inside when she noticed her way was blocked.  
A white haired old man, stood before her, leaning heavily on his cane. He regarded her with dark eyes and darker features. "I have only ever known one man to have hair like that. A Welshman, what did you say your name was child."  
"I didn't." She kept her words short but her tone soft. She had an idea who this man could be. But she didn't like the suspicion that he eyed her with.  
"He had a mouth on him too, this Palmer character. He had a babe in arms last time we spoke."  
"You knew my father?" It was her mothers last name, Palmer, her father had taken using it for both of them after she died, partially in her memory, mostly because people this side of Wales couldn't pronounce his. She rarely gave out her surname, keeping her family history tied up tight in her heart. Hearing this old man speak of her father sent a pang through her,  
"Ah so your the babe all grown up? Good man your father, where is he now days?" The question was honest, a man asking about an old acquaintance. This old man was sure to be the previous assassin Achilles, perhaps he regarded every one with an angry suspicion.  
"He went missing 10 years ago come winter."  
His tone and demeanour changed "About the time you joined forces with The Order?"  
Lizbeth was caught off guard. Speechless she could only look at him with wide telling eyes, while her brain searched for a lie or an excuse something that could help her case.  
Met by silence Achilles continued "Now what I want to know, is are you defecting? Are you still for them? Or are you just that mercenary?" The word mercenary seemed to leave a sour taste in his mouth as he spat the word.  
"It's true." She began quietly "what I do for them I do for money."  
"And Connor? Does he pay you?"  
"How dare you!" She met his dark eyes with her own glare filled with the indignation.  
"You just said you were mercenary if he's not paying you how can we be sure of your allegiance." There was a smug undertone to his question. It was beginning to rub Lizbeth the wrong way.  
"I will never betray him. Least of all for coin." She snapped.  
"If a Templar blade is at your throat?"  
"Never!"  
"Lee's blade?"  
"It doesn't matter who, I would forfeit my life first." She almost didn't believe herself as she said it. But as her words hung in the air and soaked through her skin back into her mind she knew it was true.  
"Haytham?"  
"He wouldn't" she exclaimed, she could see the cogs turn in the old mans head. Putting all the information those two words gave him together.  
"Ah..." He stepped out onto the porch and regarded her, scrutinising every inch, what a threat she was. She could even see the gleam of wonder at the information she might possess.  
"Achilles you have to believe me." she pleaded throwing any taught airs aside, hoping honesty would win through. "My past aside, I'm not your enemy. And for Connor I..." She hesitated, despite the brewing worry and the half subsisted anger, the fluttering from earlier still remained. It was so intense that coupled with the ebb and flow of other powerful emotions it began to hurt. Or perhaps that was her heart realising she had no home here.  
"I don't know you, and I trust you about as far as I can spit." Achilles interrupted her before she could gather herself "Your graces don't sit right with me. If you don't see any danger in your being here, then stay." He grumped "it's not like you young ones ever listen to me." And he turned back into the house.  
She sat, there on the porch, collapsing into her skirts, she hung her head in her hands for a moment. She sealed her heart to the grief Achilles statement made. No one trusted her except for Connor the idealist, every one regarded her for was she was. Returning her rigid posture she walked into the room where her old tattered clothes lay and packed her things. This time sensibility won over cowardice, Achilles was right to question her, after all she still had alliances within the order, but she wasn't as mercenary as he thought. Her tie was Haytham, not for money, for a simple deal, paid with a debt of life. One until now she had gladly been a part of. Now she was stuck between the Devil and the Deep Blue sea, she only had history to tell her which one was deadlier.

***  
Boston 1770  
Screaming as the boys threw her down into the mud Lizbeth Struggled against their prying as they tried to rid her tightly gripped hands of the treasure they were holding.  
She brought a knee up into ones groin, taking a small amount of delight as he rolled away cupping his own broken jewels. The other boy older than herself out weighed her half starved frame, and was craftier too. Wedging his arm under hers he stopped trying to pry open her fingers, turned to rods of steel by desperation and braced his arm under her elbow lifting it while his other hand pinned hers down.  
She hit at him, flailed, screamed and thrashed while gentlemen and ladies walked by taking no more notice of her plight than if they were stray dogs fighting. The pain grew too much and she relinquished. Her coin spilling out into the mud.  
He snatched it up, giving her a boot in the ribs for the extra trouble. Then gathering his friend left her filthy sore and penniless in the street.  
She pulled her self out of the filth, as the snow began to fall. Her hands were caked as was her back, there were even lumps ingrained in her hair. Tears streaking the muck on her face, Fighting the boys had taken the last of her strength, and she would have to take a minute before she had the energy to move again, her stomach gurgled begging to be fed its cries so loud they hurt. She winced to herself trying to wipe away the mud, only smearing it further with her hand.  
"Here." A tall gentleman said, bending down so the hem of his lavish coat dipped in the mud. He produced a beautifully white pocket handkerchief which looked as though it had never seen a day of muck in its life, and after taking her chin in his hand wiped away the tears and the dirt carefully. Then offered her his hand to help her stand.  
"Why were those boys hurting you like that?" He asked his accent well rounded, his voice powerful though not demanding.  
"I'm a good thief. But a terrible figh'er, them boys knows it. So they wait till I gets my daily take and they's come take it." Her own speech betraying her pedigree.  
"Why did you not give it to them young miss."  
She fixed the gentleman with a stern stare. His dark hair pulled back in a pony tail, a Tricon hat protected his face from the weather. He wore no look of disgust like high borne often did when regarding her. Dark features kept kindly yet prying, his eyes shrewd probing her as much as his words.  
"Coin is life sir. If I don't got coin I don't got food."  
"If your a good thief why don't you steal a loaf of bread?"  
"Two reasons." She began "one shop keepers got to make a living too, I'm not asking for Alms, and two they way more savvy than your average blue blood on the street, quicker with their knives too."  
He chuckled "they try and take a finger for payment."  
"Or two to try deter ya. No I prefer, well your lot. You wouldn't miss some change,"  
"Your very blunt" he observed, a sardonic tone alerting her that she was beginning to push his good will.  
"Father use to say I was as blunt as a brick, honest as one too" she smiled a cheeky grin, out from the muck attempting to negate any offence she created with her previous statement.  
"What do you think he meant by that?"  
"A bricks a brick init sir?"  
An explosion of deep laugher erupted from the gentleman and her simple summation of the metaphor.  
"Come with with me." He told her, he placed a hand on her back and ushered her out onto the street. "I feel you have earned your bread tonight."  
She walked at his side, sizing him up as she did. He towered above her, eyes steal, he looked ahead at the road never once at her, as if his promise of food had suddenly turned him into her piper.  
"May I ask sir what you think your getting out of this." She said finally pulling a head to stand in his way.  
"Excuse me?"  
"I've been round the mulberry bush a few times, with older gentlemen and what they like to do with young lasses. You don't keep your chastity as long as I have with out being a bit of a shrew. " she informed him  
"How old are you?" He asked plainly, not biting at her challenge.  
"14"  
"Why you should be practically married." He mocked.  
"Ain't no man in their right mind going to marry me sir." She scoffed and fell back in beside him.  
"Haytham"  
"Sir 'aytham." She corrected her self confused,  
"No just Haytham."  
"What kind of names that?" She exclaimed  
"An old one, What's your name."  
"Lizbef." She told him her accent robbing her of the th and leaving her with an f.  
"Lizbeth." He corrected her pronunciation.  
"Yeah that's what I said Lizbef."  
He sighed "Why must all you children murder the English language. Th not f. You sound like a gutter rat."  
"Funny that Mr Haytham."

That was the first night that week she slept soundly and warm, with a full belly. She was in paradise, she was allowed a bath, could even have second helpings. She remembered her pleases and thank you's for all the staff, and remained on her best behaviour. As the second day rolled around she was expecting to be turfed out on the street, but she wasn't.  
Haytham's comings and goings were frequent, but they conversed freely openly. Like she did with her father, the only difference Haytham always corrected her speech. At the end of the week when the snow was thick on the ground, and ice coated the windows she looked out the glass of the front door knowing that it was only time until she had to go back out and fend for herself that he came to her, and offered her a deal.  
It seemed reasonable, nothing like a deal with a devil, looking back on it Lizbeth should have known that a devil would be a well spoken Englishman.

Two months later  
"You shouldn't read the paper. It's all propaganda." She exclaimed sweeping into the dining room for dinner. Pausing for a moment behind his shoulder to skim the headlines.  
"How do you figure that?" Haytham turned the pages with out turning to acknowledge her. A few servants bustling to set the table and bring out the food,  
"It's all brought and paid for."  
"You have proof?" He looked up as she leaned on the edge of the table next to him, toying with a loose strand of hair.  
"You remember Jim?"  
"Jim?"  
"The man who delivers our papers? You gave him sixpence this morning." Her tone scolded him for not remembering.  
"Oh he's Jim now?"  
"Yes. His father owns the press, and while you were out yesterday I got invited for a little tour. Seems maddening work setting everything up all perfect with no spelling mistakes." Punctuating her to story with hand gestures she began to follow her tangent.  
"Anyway while we were there an older man and a boy about my age came in. Seems he had gotten in to some trouble, They spoke in hushed tones handed over some coin and the press all stopped."  
Haytham put the paper down and looked at her. "Tell me about him."  
Lizbeth smiled and played with her fingernails. "He was quite Handsome, fairly tall, lovely brown eyes, he's an Indian, do we call them Indians? I mean we're not really in India, dark hair, long for a young man but I thought he looked smashing."  
Haytham sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, wondering if perhaps using a teenage girl as an informant was really the wisest option. The last of the servants disappeared from the room and with them Lizbeth's light hearted demeanour.  
"It was Sam Adams and what I presume is the old Assassin's new apprentice." She said darkly, "he was at the riot, the reason your man didn't fire the shot was because he was to stupid to notice the boy following him, either that or the boy is that good."  
"Obviously not good enough if he didn't escape your eyes."  
Lizbeth laughed and took her seat at the table "you think a handsome young mans going to escape my gaze because he can run across some roof tops."  
"And here I was thinking youthful lusts would be a hindrance. Who needs a pack of hounds." His wit was dry but not with out reverence for her skill.  
"After you spotted him and he ran off. That's when Jim got tired of our walk and took me to the press, It was a complete fluke that I bumped into them."  
"And how did you spot him for the assassins apprentice?" The humour leaving him, his tone darker.  
"Michael from the store saw the boy when he first arrived with an old black man." She began picking at her food as she spoke. "After I left the press I went down to the docks and I was talking to the children and they said the same thing. One even heard the name Achilles, and if my fathers tales were true then that's your old assassin."  
"The children?" He asked momentarily distracted from the information at hand.  
"My very own army of little informants, they are very good. And it keeps them fed." Popping a piece of potato in her mouth she smiled. "Thanks to me you have eyes and ears every where."  
"Who else knows about all of this?" There was an unfamiliar urgency to his tone. "About this boy and assassin."  
"No one, only you." She added promptly "and the children only talk to me. Would that be a problem?"  
Haytham shook his head returning his eyes to his paper and saying no more. Lizbeth didn't push despite knowing that he was hiding something, after all a thief did not ask why, only "how many," and "of what." She continued to focus on eating dinner.  
"Did I tell you I'm leaving for the south in the morning." He stated in the silence. It wasn't a question it was a statement. The winter had passed her time had come.  
Swallowing the lump of dinner and distress "oh." Was all she managed to exclaim and stared with a mixture of sadness and terror at being on her own again. She had enjoyed the months passed, the security the warmth even the companion ship of some one that would talk to her like a human being, like her father did. The informing, the seeking, the finding and the ferreting out had been a fair trade for feeling like she had a home. As of yet her child's mind hadn't put together what this meant for the people she informed on.  
"Oh?" He questioned looking up. "Is that all?"  
She averted his gaze for a minute as she had been taught through the cold, collecting her emotions and tucking them away and replacing the with a civil armour. "It should be lovely. I hear the south is favourable this time of year."  
"You'll not miss me?"  
This time she met his gaze calmly "Are you going off to die?" Knowing full well the work that Haytham participated in but sensing she was far from rid of him in his leaving.  
He laughed reflectively to him self "If I did would you morn?"  
"I would shed a tear for a moment." She told him in all honesty "and then I would ask your killer why."  
Her comment floored him, the trouble visible on his face, making it appear older than she had seen it before.  
"Why would you think I would be killed."  
"From all I know of you Haytham Kenway, you are not a man to go quietly into the dark night." There was no way to soften her words, though she had no proof only a feeling. Like a tingle in the back of her neck that niggled at her mind. He had been in battles his body wrought with the telltale signs of old wounds healed but not quite right. Always armed ever weary, a soldier. the odds were in favour of her prediction.  
"You and Lee will be the only ones to query it then." Haytham's voice was very quiet, and reflective.  
"Lee will grieve and then reap his revenge from what ever party he sees fit." She told him her tone showing her obvious dislike for the man. She had never liked Charles Lee, ever since he locked her in his stare with his pale eyes like a dog that's just found a bone. He made her skin crawl but his unwavering loyalty to Haytham meant that there was no avoiding him.  
"But surely this is years away." He asked his little soothsayer, the dry humour returning.  
"Surely" Lizbeth neatly placed her knife and fork together beside her finished plate and folded her napkin beside it. "When was it you were leaving?"  
"Day break tomorrow."  
She nodded suddenly becoming the hardest woman in the world to read, she smiled up at him finally. With a look he hadn't seen since he had found her in the street "may I be excused?"

He didn't need anyone to tell him she had left straight after dinner. Taking from her room only what was needed, Taking from his the white lace handkerchief. He was a little disappointed, no goodbye, no note. Though he had a sneaking notion that the sudden announcement of his leaving had stirred up something that reminded her of her own fathers disappearance. This time she didn't want to be the one left behind.  
it didn't matter she would be easy enough to find when she was needed.

"Lizbeth!" The little dark haired girl exclaimed running up to her. "What you doing back? And where's all your pretty clothes?"  
She reached into her bag and pulled out a roll for the girl, breaking it in half for the others that slowly began to gather around.  
"Have you been cast out?" The child asked climbing into her lap as they settled under a awning created by the beams an scaffoldings.  
"No love. Some times you just know when it's your time to leave."  
***  
1781 may  
Lizbeth had made life skill of leaving, people and places, timing was essence. To disappear with out trace, sometimes with out any one noticing. Dead of night, a turned back, a small distraction, gone.  
She was half way across the homestead, leaving again in the afternoon sun. This time she had taken nothing with her in her haste. Though it was different, she wasn't running for her own sake she was running for Connor's. She had been so foolish to help him, to accept him into her life, to love him.  
"Lizbeth wait! Why are you running?" His voice carried with an uncommon volume over the hoof beats of the horse pulling in front of her.  
"It's clear I'm not wanted here." She tried to move around the animal.  
"That's not true." He dismounted catching her.  
"No, Connor I told you, I told you, you don't let people like me into a place like this. Achilles called me out. And he's right too. I made a deal with the devil and now I have to live with it." She pulled against him but her exhaustion was beginning to show, there was no conviction in her movements, and her voice wavered with emotion.  
"What?"  
She sighed it was to late to avoid the truth now. "I have a long standing contract with the Templars. Haytham Kenway to be exact." She had expected anger, rage, betrayal from him. She had just announced that not only did she work for the other side but for the Grand Master himself. She had said kinder things to men on the street and received a darkened eye for her trouble but all she got was sadness. Anger she could fight against the quiet disappointment that poured from him crippled her.  
"And your leaving because you still owe him some loyalty?" He asked finally.  
"No." she tried to defend a life's worth of actions "Haytham he was the one who saved me, gave me opportunity, I owe him my life. The rest is complicated."  
"Would you stop me if you knew I had to kill him?" His question was loaded, a trip mine of cleverly placed words to catch her intent.  
"Could I?" She questioned driving out the more important meaning.  
"Would you."  
She shook her head "Never, Haytham, the Templar's were what I was given. You are who I chose."  
He softened at her words. Pulling her into him, he kissed the top other head saying nothing.  
"You can't. You know," she rasped "you can't kill him, he's like steel it doesn't matter how old it is, it's still very effective."  
"It has to be done." He said solemnly  
"Can I ask why?"  
He took a moment attempting to quell anger, her question was not an insolent one, she was simply searching for an answer from the man who would kill her warden. "Is being grand master of an order that seeks to control us all, not enough? Not to mention the other atrocities done by Lee at his order. Despite him being my father this has to end."  
She pushed away from him staring up. "You... I should have seen it." She breathed bumping into the horse stopping her from going any further. Slowly things began to make more sense, why he was so familiar, sharing his fathers nose and mouth, memories began to flood her mind, the boy at the Boston massacre, had been him then 3 years later at the tea party on mission for Haytham she had clashed weapons with him. As if they had been speared together by some cruel plan of the grand master. No wonder Achillies didn't trust her, Haytham Kenway dogged her every move. "I can't be rid of him." She muttered.  
"Were you going to say goodbye?" He asked  
Shaking her head, she turned away.  
"Connor I can't risk Betraying you, I can't let him have what I know about you, how ever little that is." Every word was a struggle, every sentence came out broken as she tried to phrase it and then lost it in the well of emotion. "And he will he'll take it from me, him or more to the point Lee." She shuddered at the thought of the latter.  
"Are you really that afraid of him.'  
"I know him. For 13 I've known him, and been watching the horrors he has been a part of, he has taken up monstrous means to achieve his end."  
"You see why he must be stopped."  
"I see. I just don't know if you can."  
"Trust me?"  
She laughed. "Of course"  
He handed her the reigns of the horse "Take her or you won't get far."  
She mounted the mare and settled into the saddle. It was unfamiliar, her experiences with horses was carts and wagons travelling between towns, she was a city girl more comfortable cobble stones, and raceways than forests and animals.  
Connor adjusted the stirrups for her and lingered with a hand on her leg. "Find me. When its done." He patted the horses muzzle as he did "Lets not make it a good bye. Let us say until next we meet. Find me, I'm sure you can."  
Leaning forward in the saddle she kissed his cheek, she felt it wrinkle as he smiled turning his mouth towards hers one last time. It was his turn to rise up to reach her. Touching her cheek as they kissed, her own hand held his. Her grip was firm and full of heartache. This is why she hated goodbyes every second she held onto him made the next harder to let go.  
"I'll find you," she breathed pulling away "and remember if you take on Haytham. Don't fight fair. If you want any hope of living and I hope to dear god that you do, hit him with everything and do not by any means hesitate."  
***  
1781 July  
She had ridden as hard as she could with out risking her stead. Through the frontier and on to New York. Throwing in with her troupe, melding back into the fold of starving children and the few adults that looked out for them. The fire had ripped through a large portion of the city, leaving it abandoned, chard skeletal buildings were all that were left scattered about the area like a graveyard. The informant army she built ten years ago in Boston had expanded flowing through the cities, the patter of little feet unmistakable to ears that knew it was there. To the rest no more than rats running through gutters.  
Slipping into the heavy wooden door of the local tavern she picked a table down the back with the hopes of finding a mark. Her eyes scanned the men and the few women in the room. A few soldiers stuck together in clumps but the majority were farmers or tradesmen Weary and grumpy after a long days work.  
She heard the door groan and open wide as more came in off the street. Her breath caught in her throat she recognised the gloved hand, and eagle cuff that pushed the door. She froze, there was no point in running, this day was always going to come. It had been so long since she had last seen him. Of course his mad dog Charles Lee was lapping at his heals. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as they made their way towards her and took a seat each side of her.  
"Just the girl I wanted to see." Haytham spoke softly as he placed his hands on the table. Suddenly it was like she was a child again looking up to the dapper gentleman.  
"Lovely Lizbeth. I have a job for you my dear."  
"I'm sorry Haytham, I'm not up for any commissions." She answered flatly  
"You know I missed you." He continued talking ignoring her protests "though this last year I have been apprised on your exploits, stealing from Captian Renold And then breaking into and destroying the Red coats Fort was excellent work. Not your usual skill set but I suppose the Assassin did help. Which is why I'm here"  
"No Haytham." She repeated  
"I hear he's quite smitten on you, with half the work done, what's wrong with taking a little coin for the last of it? After all so many years ago you did fancy the boy. What's the price of a mans heart these days?"  
Her gaze flicked up to his hurt in her eyes "You're cruel Haytham."  
"And you're sleeping with my son, now we have both said something obvious shall we get to business." His words hit her like a knife cutting her to the wick, debasing her relationship with one sentence.  
"I'll not turn on him." Any lack of conviction had gone, steel had reinforced her spine.  
"Very well." Haytham nodded to Lee behind her. She barely had time to turn as she was snapped up out of her seat and lifted into the air.  
She gasped, squirming against her captor as he dragged her out the door. Latching on to the frame she pulled against Lee with all her strength  
"Don't do this to me Haytham." She screamed before he wrenched her hands free and pulled her out into the street.

Lee dropped her onto the street pulling a length of rope from his pocket.  
"Oh you came prepared I see." She laughed sarcastically picking her self up out of the dirt. He placed a boot between her shoulder blades and wrenched her hands behind her back beginning to bind them.  
"I know better than to give you an inch." He growled into her ear.  
"Well I was taught by one of the best." She mumbled in defiance  
He lifted her roughly and grabbed a handful of her hair. "As was I."  
"I guess he just liked me more."  
Lee dragged her across the cobble path to the horse trough plunging her face first into the icy water. She spluttered unable to fight back. Breath bubbling from her lungs to the surface, unable to gasp again, her lungs began to catch fire, her mind fill with terror. she was pulled up. She sucked in the sweet air like she had never taken a breath in her life.  
"Is that why you shacked up with the boy? Just enough like master Haytham to satisfy you."  
She smiled "Is that jealousy I hear Charles. After all a kiss from me cost you an earlobe once." She blew the dripping water out of her mouth. Baiting him with every word. Again she plunged into the watery depths of the trough. 

She spluttered out in the air and coughed chest heaving trying to regain some composure.  
"Must have devastated you, losing masters favour, to a girl and a savage." This time she managed a breath before he shoved her back in the water. She was ready when she surfaced. She whipped her head forward catching the bridge of his noes with her forehead, then spat at him. The game of sharp words was over. He hauled her to her feet by her hair pulled back and hit her. Pain exploded through her jaw his Templar ring catching her lip. She fell heavily with no hands to catch herself back onto the dirt. A boot collided with her back.  
"I'm going to enjoy your death most of all." She hissed through the pain. "Be guaranteed I will smile when I watch the life flicker out of your eyes."  
He kicked her a second time, so hard she felt a stabbing pain splinter up her side.  
"Charles." Haytham's commanding voice carried through the night. Lee froze like the obedient animal he was and she heard the Grand Master approach.  
The foot steps stopped at her head and she saw him crouch down to her. A large strong hand helped to her knees. Like when she was a child he took her chin in his hand taking a pocket handkerchief he dabbed at the blood pooling at her lips. Relief flooded her face as she looked at him, trusting his touch.  
"An excellent tactic." He said "railing your torturer up so he neglected to ask the appropriate questions." His eyebrows knotted together genuine Concern filled his eyes. "Would have worked right up until the point where he either drowned you or beat you to death."  
"The risks we take." She managed to say her voice husky from coughing.  
"This is foolish." He scolded her "turning against me? I took you in treated you like one of my own."  
She laughed showing off her bloody teeth "I have seen how you treat your own. This is fairly accurate."  
His grip tightened on jaw squeezing so tight it hurt, she winced.  
"I have had about enough of your insolence." His rage was more than visible tearing across his face.  
"There is nothing I can tell you, even if i would."  
His wrist flexed and the hidden blade snaked out from his sleeve he held it to her cheek.  
"And if I threaten to kill you unless you tell me what I want to know?"  
"Then there is one more body to bury in the morning."  
Haytham flinched, there was no defiance, the rage and spite that she had egged Charles on with had been washed away as soon as he had touched her. The audacity and childish insubordination that she had shown him, melted with her words into fear, and betrayal as she realised she could be one more body on the road. It was the same look he had received from Connor last time they spoke.  
He let her go, she slumped back to her knees hanging her head. Sheathing his blade he stood up. "Lock her up." He said finally to Charles who preceded to roughly haul her to her feet.  
"I asked him why." She called out to Haytham as she was being marched away. She spat the words out like a threat that only he understood.  
"Sir?" Lee asked as Haytham's face darkened ominously  
"I asked Connor why he had to kill you." She reiterated The conversation they had years ago at the dinner table surfacing she could see it on his face too. Her omission slowly coming to pass before them.  
"Take her away." Was all he could say.  
***  
She paced back and forwards in the cell. She could hear the other in mates below her, hooting, talking fighting. She wasn't allowed out of her tiny stone and metal cell. Her only companions were the rats and drips. As the only woman in the institution they thought it best to keep her safely locked away she was not allowed out while the other inmates were out. She had been stripped of her own clothes on entry, the prison rags the same as every one else's, the rough spun shirt hanging past her knees pants tied with a rope.  
She had her own private Guard, but he never came close and almost never spoke to her. So she marched back and forwards until her feet were raw, then she lay on the questionable mat they called a bed. Listing to the shouting and the swearing and trying to avoid the smell. Avoiding thinking about the knot of worry that grew in her gut every day.

"You hear?"  
"Hear what?" One guard rasped to the other late one afternoon.  
"That Assassin got him, at Fort George. They say the beast took a hit from a cannon ball but still managed to put a blade through his throat."  
Lizbeth leaped to her feet. Pressing her face as close to the bars as she could trying to hear more but the guards separated her personal watcher pacing back along to her cell.  
"Hey." She called out "what were you just saying about the Assassin."  
"What's it to you?" He grumped coming over to her  
"Absolutely everything. Who'd he get?" It was plain to hear the urgency in her. Her mouth had gone dry, Fort George it could be either Haytham or Lee. Though she wished to be there to witness Lee's passing she prayed it was him that had met Connor's blade. Maybe Connor was right perhaps she did still somewhere in the back of her mind owe Haytham some loyalty, cared for him even. He had taken her in, taught her to survive. He had shown her mercy when every one overlooked her. At least she had cared for the man that he was.  
"That man," the guard snapped his figures conjuring up the name. "Kenway, ah. Haytham that's it."  
Her hands went to her mouth. "And Connor?" She asked her voice a horse whisper "The Assassin?"  
"Took off, I presume to do in the next one."  
A bizarre numbness flooded her senses as the two polarising emotions fought a battle in her skull for a moment. On the one hand Haytham was dead, it saddened her, it pinched at a corner of her heart brining tears to the surface.  
On the other hand Connor lived, survived relatively unscathed, and that had been what she was more worried about. She laughed as she let the relief beat the grief.  
"What?" The guard demanded  
She swallowed "Charles Lee where was he posted."  
"It don't matter where he was posted, he's dropped everything for this Haytham's Funeral. They are all heading back to Boston for the event, taking all sorts of men with him."  
She leaned causally against the bars "feeling a little short staffed?"  
He sighed heavily and stepped closer to the bars, "more than a little. We're all working double shifts, if these reprobates figure out that there's three of them to one of us. Well!"  
"Three to One." She muttered "those odds aren't in your favour." A sly grin spread across her lips as her brain started to formulate a plan. Looking as far as she could left and right, she realised he was alone on this level.  
She reached out through the bars, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him with all her might face first into the un wavering metal. He uttered a short groan before slumping into unconsciousness. With one had holding him up she riffled around his waist for his keyring. She was quickly rewarded. Allowing him to slump into painful slumber she unlocked the door and slid him inside locking him up.  
Surrounded by cells on the top most floor she knew the entrance and exit was below her and below that the convicts out for their free time.  
She stuck her head over the railing "gentlemen." She cried as loud as she was able. Swinging over the bars and hanging over for all to see as the noise ebbed to nothing and all eyes turned to her. "Gentlemen. Your freedom is at hand." Rattling the keys next to her head she smiled "first in first served."  
An unnatural wave of stillness engulfed the prison, all parties involved thought about her offer. Then an explosion of movement, bodies forced together racing up the stairs towards her climbing over one another fighting each other.  
The guards equally terrified struggled with their locks attempting to run in to aid their comrades caught in the midst of the riot.  
Pandaemonium ensued, noise roared through the building. She mounted the railing throwing her self into the throngs of body's. the doors were already open with the guards trying to subdue the crowd, their muskets useless in close quarters the convicts numbers simply over whelming them.  
Pushing through the unmanned gates, bare feet slapping against cold stone, she ran for the door to the outside world, one final lock and she spilled out onto the street. Leaving the door open for those luckily enough to follow.  
Daylight burned her eyes, and she could feel the heat of the sun for the first time in days. Common folk past about the streets paying her no mind as she tried to find a way to get to Boston.  
A familiar dark head of hair bounded up the cobbles leading a horse.  
"Kara!" She shouted running up to her old friend and kissing her on the cheek. "You utterly fantastic girl."  
Kara laughed "we've had some on on the prison since you went in, figured you'd want a  
Quick escape."  
She ran her hands over the horses muzzle. The cream and white mare was bright eyed and eager to run. "You took such good care of her too."  
"You seem attached."  
Lizbeth mounted "thank you. I'll find away to repay you." Turning the horse and spurring it off towards the out skirts of town.  
Kara smiled watching her friend race off. "You don't need to." She whispered to herself. 

Hooves rattled across cobbles until there were no more streets. Thumped across farmland jumping fences dodging people until there were no signs of civilisation left. Trees whipped passed and still she pushed on. Light dropped with it the temperature she stopped only to rest her poor weary animal, and to not risk injuring her. In the thick of the frontier moon light barely broke through the tree line. The Forrest floor was pitch, noises of animals rabbits and raccoons foraging for food, there was signs of larger animals too, but for now they left her alone. Worry kept her awake, absentminded patting of the horse the only function she was capable of in the darkness. She nudged her sensing something was wrong with her master, Lizbeth's mind was in Boston, walking the streets analysing what might be happening. Where the funeral was taking place. Surly that's where Connor would strike. Far to obvious for her liking but Connor was a direct man, he would take Lee head on and give him a fighting chance, even though all he deserved was a knife in the back. 

With first light she was off again, passing frontiersmen and travellers her and her steed panting hard.  
Pouring put of the trees and down the hill into Brooklyn she slowed to a canter to peruse the districts for any sign. Men filed out onto the streets, she saw two or three break off into another direction struggling with something in between them. She reared the horse for a tight turn people flooding the streets, she was penned in, she could feel the mare begin to get agitated huffing and thumping the ground with her foot. A fight ensued, white coat battling against blue. One man went down then the next.  
"Connor!" She screamed but her voice was lost with in the rabble of people. Putting down the last man he ran taking off along the street after a foe she couldn't see, a foe she could only imagine was Lee.  
She growled to herself, her mare reacting to annoyance jumped forward causing people to spill out of the way. Taking the long way on horse back she found his trail. As she started to make headway on him he turned down an alley.  
Again she groaned spinning around looking for a way to follow. She could follow on foot maybe make up some ground in the short cuts but there was no way she could catch him in a straight sprint across open ground. She went wide back on the open street following the paved roads in the general direction he had been going. Slowing she was looking for signs anything to alert her to where they had gone. She had come to the docks. Wood groaned while the water slapped the hulls of the ships. She could hear a bang and crash in amongst the peace. Sounds of planks falling, becoming loader than the sound of hammering a building. Suddenly there was a crescendo of destruction, splintering wood hitting the ground and splashing to the water below. Then silence, she swallowed a dryness in her throat edging towards the sound.  
A crack of gunfire ripped through the quiet, her mare reared, she heard a yell and as she was calming her stead a familiar form limped out of the dust.  
Lee clutched his bloody side, stumbling from the wreckage, no Connor behind him.  
She felt the blood drain from her face. Dropping the reigns she ran in the way Lee had come out. Fighting the dust she saw a crumpled figure lying on the ground.  
Thoughts didn't process as she ran to him dropping to her knees, her mouth opened but she couldn't think of words nor force her throat to make a sound. He moved, pulling him self up and forward. He paused to look up at her, face spattered with dust dirt blood and war paint, Dark hair cut into a Mohawk. "We have to stop meeting like this." He panted trying to get his footing.  
"If we didn't, one of us would surely die." She whispered laying a hand on his shoulder. He stumbled forward catching himself on her.  
"Connor stop." She held his shoulders. "You have to stop now."  
She could see the hunk of wood jutting from his abdomen.  
"I must find Lee." He attempted to push against her, but she could feel his strength leaving him. He wrapped his hands around the wood and wrenched it free, groaning through gritted teeth as he did and then attempting to stand.  
His legs folded, Lizbeth caught him and helped lower him to the ground.  
"You will find Lee." She told him he could see the pain in her face seeing him like this "but I'm not letting you die on me. Not now. So sit still and give me a minute." She took off out side. 

Connor lay in the dirt in the collapsed half built ship. He did as Lizbeth bade, not having the energy to do anything else, his mind began to wander, thinking of happier times, thinking to the homestead and his friends. A conversation at Maurice's wedding came to mind, as the men talked about the lonely bachelors life. He had never paid it mind, far to focused on tasks at hand for years to think of love.  
"So why didn't you manage to snaffle that lovely red head that arrived a disappeared all in a day?" His friend joked "her fault or yours?"  
He chuckled "I would make a terrible husband, I have no time to give."  
"So your fault." They laughed  
"It's not so much time and love." Godfrey interrupted his thick Scottish brogue making his pearl of wisdom sound cryptic. "as finding a woman as mad as you, some one who will stand by you even if she thinks your an idiot." He looked kindly over to his own wife Catherine "see the thing with women is you think they are all soft, nothing but feelings, but they are like fire. They are beautiful and warm and when you piss 'em off they burn your house down."  
He had laughed, but he should have listened more closely.

Lizbeth returned to her position, by his side she placed a old beaten cup, threw a large needle in it and pulling the cork out of a bottle she had procured, drowned it in something that smelled flammable. She took a swig her self. Pulling a face at the strong tart flavour that slipped over her tongue down into her stomach, settling nerves.  
She passed him the drink. "This is going to hurt. A lot." She emphasised the last two words. He nodded.  
Taking the short sword off his belt she began to cut the base of her shirt into strips she had more than enough spare fabric.  
"Where have you been?" He asked finally seeing the rough tunic and dark pants that were clearly not her own.  
"Prison." She informed him simply pulling some of the fibres from edges of her newly cut bandages she sterilised them with the alcohol and threaded the needle.  
Peeling away his bloodied clothes from the wound she took a final deep breath. And set to work.

Back alley field medicine and a few more swigs of powerful homebrew, and Lizbeth was true to her word. Getting him back on his feet and moving towards his final goal of Killing Charles Lee.  
"You came early" Connor spoke softly, she had an arm around his waist and was helping him walk towards the ferry in the direction she had seen Lee take. Gathering her horse as they went.  
"I'm glad I did." She smiled sadly, the corners of her eyes still shrouded with concern "and people say I'm trouble."

Together they hunted Lee through the frontier, weeks they followed his trail. Self proclaimed city girl Lizbeth adapted to life on the move in the wilderness. Though she still wasn't use to the strange noises and animal cries that filled the night. It made her the best option for the nights watch, while she kept an eye on Connor. His wound had been deep and frightening, he had only allowed enough time to get more bandages but no time to rest and see a doctor. Thought there was no sign of fever but it only took a small infection and the tides would change. He was thankful for his vigilant nurse, her unwavering support keeping him moving through the frontier when his own stubbornness wavered.  
A tavern glowed from the centre of a small community. Their trail ended in it. Lizbeth tethered the ever patient mare out side, and held the door open for Conner. He entered under his own power, un sheathing his dagger. They approached a table one loan man sat drinking. Slouched as if he were in pain. The back of his dark hair un mistakenly Lee.  
Connor took the free seat and sat down across from him. Lizbeth almost didn't want to watch. Charles Lee whom she had always referred to as Haytham's mad dog, who had terrified her when she was young, barely moved when his adversary sat before him. Like a tired wounded animal staring at his own unavoidable end.  
Taking her stance behind Connor she looked on Lee with unforgiving eyes. He sat up in her presence his eyes flicking between each of them. She could smell the odour of a wound gone to rot. Is that why after weeks of running had he finally stopped. He Took a swig out of the bottle before sliding it across to Connor. The same stubborn resolve resided in him despite the gauntness of his features. He watched Connor drink the two men silently loathing each other. Connor reached forward taking Charles by the shoulder and pulling him towards his blade. There was no words no last stutter of hatred, or confessions a gurgled began low in his throat then stopped as he exhaled falling forward. Connor reached for the medallion Lee wore and ripped it from his neck. Lizbeth didn't move she waited for that last long breath to sputter out of him, she waited a little longer to make sure he wouldn't breath again, but she didn't smile.

1781 December  
Homestead buzzed as it did every morning. Beaming over the community the sun gave the day extra warmth, reflecting off the thick layer of snow from the night before.  
Lizbeth had the children on the porch taking advantage of the glorious morning. She was drawing letters and words in the ice that crusted the wood with her finger, encouraging the children to do the same.  
She paused in her lessons for a moment hearing a long confidant stride crunch towards the house. Her smile was unmistakeable as she saw the familiar dark hair, white coat and cream and white mare. He walked slowly with heavy steps, something weighed heavily on his shoulders. She was just glad to see him.  
Whipping her hands off on her skirts she turned to the children.  
"Off you go, have a wee play."  
They looked at each other before taking off as fast as they were able "Where I can see you." She finished sternly. Descending to the front step.

Connor approached the porch, as Lizbeth threw open her arms to welcome him. He caught her in a hug burying his head into her curls, the step gave her enough extra height to be almost the same size. He drank her in, every part. Wearing the pale blue dress she was given when she first arrived. Half of his worries had melted away as he saw her on the step, still in his life, waiting for him. A strangely happy look in her eye.There had been a risk in his leaving alone that she would have drifted away, disappearing like she was good at.  
"What happened?" She asked knowing him well enough to read the signs.  
"You were right in the end." He didn't raise his head "they were chased out. The whole village is gone."  
"I never wanted to be." She spoke softly running her hands through his hair.  
"What do we do now?"  
She smiled, reassuring him taking a hand and placing it on her belly.  
"We start again." She told him a strange knowing sound to her voice "a new brotherhood and a new family."


End file.
